The Thief of Hopes
by atree
Summary: There is no applause, no calls for encore, not for her. [Oneshot, Nana character study]


The Thief of Hopes

It is the beauty of the thing. The play of stage lights on velvet.

The star-pluckers approach the tower steps. Seven maidens – seven goddesses – splay against the crimson drapes. Above them suspend two stars: one large, one small. _If you pluck them both, you will obtain an eternal wish._ The soft whirr of the pulley. The stage rises. The lights fade. The goddesses scramble into their new positions, and when the lights flicker back on, they are standing, weapons raised high. _Why were we confined here? What sins did we commit?_ Nana is Despair. Her role is a small one, shared among seven. Hand-in-hand, the star-pluckers advance bravely, unvanquished by the goddesses' phantom strikes. _O, and so it repeats. Beneath the light of the stars._ The gilded cage carries the star-pluckers to the summit – no easy feat, as Nana personally knows, to hoist that hunk of metal with the weight of two girls. The two reach out their hands. A scream. The stage turns red.

One lives. One dies.

After all, the play is a tragedy.

As Nana watches Claire grasp towards the sky that spills stardust across the stage, she thinks: If only the world will end to freeze this moment of beauty.

In retrospect, that wish is premature.

When she is first called to the Revue, she's not sure why she's chosen. She has no desire to be a star. She is the supporting cast, the stagehand, the audience. It is enough to be a part. But that damn giraffe is clever – yes, a giraffe. It takes her several moments to process the fact. He whispers into her ear the only wish she has ever had. How many has he led to their downfalls with those same promises? She will no doubt be another. But she can bear any mutilation, even if to her soul, as long as there exists the chance to recapture the radiance of that stage.

The Revues pass like snowflakes.

She feels their glimmers within herself. They flutter like caged fireflies. She is the thief of hopes. It is wrong – not to steal them, but for her to do it. What use does she have for passion? For dreams? As she casts her friends into the abyss and takes from them what they can never take back, she doesn't see their anguished faces or hear their sobs. The wind of the summer star festival is warm against her skin. She sees two girls meet against the backdrop of a tower. Above them shines the meteor storm that comes once a year. Soft piano blends into the swell of strings. Voiceover: _This is the story of a distant planet, from long ago, in the faraway future…_

Her swords flicker out. The ring of steel-on-brass. Tendou's button soars through the air. Her cape falls.

Nana tilts to look at the sky.

Desperately, she clings to the last wisps of memory. Is it as dazzling to others as it is to her? If it is, how can they smile, frown, laugh, _feel,_ knowing what they have lost? Perhaps the void exists only within her. The pallid spotlights converge on her. Before her spreads a sea of empty red seats. Is this real? After half a dozen Revues, she is still unsure. The stage holds the unsung qualities of a dream. It doesn't matter if it's real. Tendou is saying something, her voice laced with disbelief. The pursuit of perfection vs. the pursuit of beauty. Tendou loses because she has everything to gain. Nana wins because she has nothing to lose. Indifferently, she plants her sword into the red tape.

"Position Zero."

The curtain falls. Tendou vanishes.

The giraffe offers his congratulations. She makes her wish – a formality. They both know it to the marrow of their bones. The tiara lands in front of her, a delicate weave of gold set with emeralds and a giant ruby. The thing is surprisingly light. It's fake, as expected. The stage dims until only three red stars remain, glowing brighter and brighter until they swallow the world in their light. A sound like chimes hums in the air. Rebirth is not as painful as she imagines. There is no applause, no calls for encore, not for her. The performance is over, but her heart pumps as excitedly as a school girl's on her first audition. The ninety-ninth Seisho Festival will begin again.

And its radiance shall never fade.


End file.
